Born to Run
by Moniker
Summary: With their lives in grave danger, Walt and Jesse decide to escape this life and start over somewhere else. But they can't do it alone, and they have to gamble their trust on the one person who was sent to kill them. Possible implied WaltXJesse, minimal JesseXOC
1. Chapter 1

I'm not a big fan of OC's in fanfiction because I (personally) think they make the stories boring for other readers, but this one wouldn't really work without one so I'll try to keep the part kind of superficial. I'm also not a big fan of long, multi-chapter fanfitions because I hate reading them myself, but... Here's to hoping not everyone thinks like me? Lol I apologize in advance if this story isn't compatible with the time line of the show, but I don't have the time or energy to do that much research right now. I'll try to keep it as best I can from memory, though! And as always, I don't own these characters, blah blah blah, and thanks for reading =)

#

"Son of a bitch!" Jesse yelled at the screen, slamming his phone shut and squeezing it tightly in front of himself.

This was the third time he had tried to reach Walt to come pick him up, and he was met with the usual 'don't call me at my house, you idiot' bullshit. Walt was always full of great advice when it came to telling Jesse that he needed to 'handle things', but then when Jesse found himself abandoned thirty minutes out of town, Mr. White was no where to be seen to help him out. He could usually get a ride here or there from one of his friends, but he hated having to rely on addicts to bring him places because situations like this were always a constant possibility with them. At the same time, there are certain places he didn't need to have his car seen, and the territory of other dealers was pretty high on that list. In fact, he didn't even want to be walking in this area, but it seemed like walking was the only available option at the moment. Mr. White would not accept his calls, and his phone would die long before anyone else would even answer, let alone having to explain the situation to them fifty times before they understood what he was asking of them.

It was getting dark quickly so he began to pick up the pace, walking briskly in the general direction of 'home'.

"Let's see," He thought, "that's about a half-hour away on the highway in a car, so on foot (and on back roads) it should take me... Well, I'll be old enough to retire, anyway. Fuck."

A set of headlights pierced the distance, and without even thinking, Jesse stuck his thumb out as they approached. Luckily they sped right past him without so much as a second thought, and Jesse quickly began to evaluate his decision to try and flag them down in the first place. It wouldn't have been the first time that he hitchhiked, of course, but there were so many horror stories out there that he tried to make it an absolute last resort whenever possible. Naturally, he was thinking only of his own personal safety while making this assessment, and not even considering the fact that most people would drive right past him anyway because he looked like a homeless, burned out gang member. They'd have to be crazier to stop than he would have to be to get in the car.

Several more cars sped past in both directions, but this time Jesse kept his hands in his pockets. New Mexico had been in the middle of a warm-front these last few days, but from Jesse's perspective, it seemed to be over now. Spring was definitely here, but that didn't say much for walking around outside in a hoodie at night. Jesse paused and glanced back behind him, hoping to glean some motivation by how far he had already come. Shit. A mile, maybe? He hung his head dejectedly for a moment, and then pulled his phone back out of his pocket. The battery only had one bar left, and it was blinking. He placed it back into his pocket, deciding it would be best to save it as much as possible, and started walking again. More cars zoomed past, and each one sent a rush of frigid evening air straight up his spine.

"Fuck it." He thought, nuzzling down into the oversized neck of his hoodie, "I'm taking my chances with the axe murderers. Next car that stops is bringing me home..."

Unfortunately, no one did. The night grew thick and black, and the temperature kept steadily dropping. He had no idea how much time had passed because he was too afraid to check his phone, but he was shivering from the cold and jumping up and down desperately to keep his blood flowing and catch the attention of passing motorists. It must have been getting late, because the traffic was slowing down, too, and that was bad news for him. Finally, a pair of headlights topped the small hill behind him, and as they grew closer Jesse decided that he was NOT going to let this one pass. They were going to stop for him because he was going to make them stop, end of story.

The old pickup didn't change speed, or offer any other indication that it might slow down to help him, but Jesse didn't care—he had a plan. From the side of the road he began waving his arms wildly like a chicken, but when he saw that that was having little effect on the driver, he stepped out into the road before the truck could completely close the distance between them. Still, the truck did not change speed, and Jesse's arms fell limply to his side as stood there for a moment, fixated on his own impending doom like a frightened deer. Quickly he realized that the driver was still not slowing down and may not even be able to see him.

"Hey! Yo!" He yelled at the oncoming vehicle, waving his arms wildly again.

Suddenly the distracted driver saw him, and he swerved hard to the left to avoid a manslaughter charge. The stillness of the night was shattered by screaming brake pads grinding on metal, and the pickup came to a complete stop about twenty yards up the road from where Jesse had been standing. Jesse began walking over to the vehicle cautiously, but stopped short when he saw the driver's head pop out of the window. A string of angry, guttural insults flew from the truck, followed by what looked like a display of the middle finger before the driver pulled the vehicle back onto the road and sped off into the night.

"Yeah, thanks for nothing... dick!" Jesse screamed after him, doubling over with the exhilaration that comes from a sudden dump of adrenaline.

He stood there in the road trying to compose himself for a moment, forearms resting on his tired, buckling knees. He had actually screamed so loudly at the guy that his stomach began to cramp painfully.

Through all of his heavy breathing, he barely heard the low growl of a powerful engine behind him. He snapped back to reality, and suddenly realized that he was standing in the soft glow of yet another set of headlights. He jumped a bit at this realization, thinking he was about to be run over, but the black silhouette on the side of the road was not moving.

It was an older muscle car—late sixties or early seventies perhaps—obviously restored by the sound of it, though he was unable to make it out visually in the blackness of the night. Jesse shielded his eyes from the glare of the headlights. He approached it slowly, barely able to make out the out-of-state vanity plate that read "Crisis".

When he reached the passenger side of the vehicle, the door was pushed open by the person inside. A welcoming rush of warmth came pouring out, caressing Jesse's frozen skin, and it took his every ounce of composure to not just leap inside with no questions asked. Instead, he rested his forearms casually on the edge of the roof (as if this vehicle were not his only chance at salvation), and bent down to glance inside. He was surprised to see the the face of a young, non-axe-murdering female with long black hair behind the wheel, her features highlighted by the soft blue glow of the dashboard light. She looked so familiar, but he was too cold to try and put a name to the face...she reminded him vaguely of Jane.

"Where you headed?" She asked, turning her head slightly to face him.

"Back into town." Jesse responded, gesturing down the road a bit before realizing she couldn't see his hand gestures through the car's roof. "Er.. Albuquerque. Are you headed that way?"

"Not really, but I could be. You look cold..." 

"Freezing." Jesse corrected, with a half-hearted smile.

"Well? Get in."

Jesse climbed in to the deep, leathery bucket seat and eagerly closed the door behind him. The car was already at a comfortable temperature for people who hadn't spent the past few hours walking home without a jacket, but the driver could see that he was still visibly cold, so she turned the heat up as high as it would go. He glanced sideways at her in preparation to thank her, but she gave a knowing half-smile and then put the car back into gear. The black Impala jerked powerfully back onto the road, and the engine growled loudly as it picked up speed.

"So... Do you always pick up hitchhikers?" He asked, breaking the silence, "I mean, it's not a very safe thing to do."

"Are you saying I shouldn't trust you?" She responded, not bothering to look for his reaction.

"No, no, no..." Jesse scrambled, trying not to freak her out too much, "I didn't mean—I guess I just assumed that a woman would be less likely to pick up hitchhikers than men. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're a woman because I was pretty freaked out about having to get in some weird dude's car anyway..."

"So... Because I'm a woman, that means I can't be weird?"

"No, I—" Jesse stopped suddenly, wondering if that statement should worry him more than it did.

There was a brief silence before she cracked a smile at Jesse's obvious discomfort, and that put him back at ease for some reason. He decided to stop talking before he dug the hole any deeper, and he closed his eyes as he sunk back into the seat, treasuring every second of the warmth that was blowing onto his skin.

"Look look look!" She exclaimed, startling Jesse out of paradise.

Just ahead, there was a long stretch of open road, and on it were the tail lights of the old pickup that had flipped Jesse off. Jesse glanced over at her, and she had a devious smirk on her face that seemed to be asking him for his permission. He smiled, and with that cue she jerked the heavy car sharply to the left and floored it, quickly catching up alongside of the old truck. The driver of the pickup did a quick double-take, as they were not in a passing zone and a set of headlights had just come into view up ahead in the lane now occupied by the Impala. Jesse locked eyes with the other driver and made a goofy face at him, returning the rude hand gesture as his co-pilot put the pedal to the floor, barely passing the pickup with enough distance to cut in before hitting the on-coming box truck head-on. The driver of the box truck laid on its horn as she sped off in the proper lane, in front of a very angry pickup driver.

"Oh my GOD!" Jesse exclaimed, laughing. "What was that? That was great!"

She didn't say anything, just smiled at the road satisfied while he took a few minutes to calm back down.

"So where do you live exactly?" She asked at last, changing the subject

"I'll show you." He responded, still wheezing in amusement. "It's probably about twenty minutes into town, but you can drop me anywhere along the way if you want. Any little bit helps, believe me. And thank you. Where are you headed?"

"No where, really. I just felt like going for a drive I guess. I live right outside Albuquerque myself so I guess I was heading that way anyway."

"Huh. You live outside Albuquerque? I noticed your plates were from Nebraska or something, did you just move here?"

"Iowa." She chuckled, "And yeah. I have to get around to changing them over before I end up getting a ticket. I just didn't want to risk losing my vanities."

"Yeah, _that's_ why you'd get a ticket..." He joked, raising an eyebrow at her questionable driving style.

"Oh, hah." She responded sarcastically, trying not to smile.

The driver stripped off her jacket, and only then did Jesse realize that he was starting to have feeling in his extremities again. Actually, the vehicle had become quite warm.

"Oh, you can turn that down if you want." He said, reaching for the dial that controls the heat. His hand bumped something heavy in the center console along the way.

"That's okay, I don't m—"

"Jesus Christ, is that a gun?!" Jesse exclaimed, cutting her off and pressing himself firmly against the back of his seat.

She paused a moment, evaluating the appropriate answer to that obvious question.

"Did you think I just randomly drive around at night picking up hitchhikers with no real way of protecting myself?" She responded, choosing not to make eye contact. "I assure you, if I had intended to kill you, you wouldn't have seen the gun until it went off. But, if it makes you that uncomfortable, I can put it away..."

"N—no." Jesse stammered, partially so he didn't appear to be a giant pussy, and partially because he'd be much more comfortable if she just didn't touch it at all. "It's fine. Just unexpected, I guess."

"Surprises around every corner." She stated, making the turn toward Albuquerque.

Most of the ride into town was pretty quiet after that. They exchanged names and superficial chit-chat, but Carla could tell that Jesse was pretty uncomfortable with the gun in the car.

"Turn right up here, this is my road." He said at last.

She turned the vehicle slowly and crept down the residential street. The whole town was clearly sleeping, and suddenly the Impala's engine sounded like a pack of lions all roaring together. Jesse darted up in his seat as they neared his house, and something strange caught his attention. There was a police cruiser parked outside of his house with no officer inside, and another cruiser several feet up the road. He saw flashlights moving about in his backyard.

"Ohh no, no, no, no..." He said, sinking back into the seat and running his fingers through his hair, "Please, I need you to do me a huge favor...Just keep driving. You can drop me off further up the road or whatever, just please don't stop here..."

Carla gave him a strange look, but Jesse's expression was pleading with her not to ask any questions. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to try and make an emergency call to one of his friends—and of course, it was dead.

"Do you...Have someone you can call or anything?" She asked, glancing over at him sympathetically.

He sighed, in the most depressing way.

"My phone is dead." He responded shortly, clenching his jaw as he leaned back on the headrest, arm falling limp in his lap. "I don't suppose I can use yours?"

She winced, knowing that what she was about to say would not make him very happy. "I don't have one."

Jesse closed his eyes tightly. She could see he was out of options as she rounded the corner further down the block.

"I mean," She corrected, "I don't have one with me. I left it at home. If you don't mind going a little out of the way you can definitely use it."

He glanced over at her, silent at first. "Thanks."

They drove in silence for a little while longer before the car turned sharply into a driveway on the outskirts of town. There weren't many neighbors here, and had Jesse not been so lost in thought as to what he was going to do, he might have actually been envious of her privacy. Yet, the small house looked out of place somehow—it didn't have the same layout as every other house in the state seemed to have, but looked more like a modest-sized custom build. They exited the vehicle, and Jesse followed her up the the remainder of the driveway where she slid her key inside the lock and opened the door.

The entrance was to some kind of foyer, and beyond that was a spacious living room and kitchen, all decorated in dark reds, black and white. It had a very modern feel to it, but was also comforting in a strange way. There was a fifty-gallon fish tank along the back wall, full of tiny little sharks and creepy ornaments that was casting a soothing blue glow on the black leather couch.

"Hang on, I'll grab that charger." She said, entering the kitchen. She began wrestling open what Jesse immediately identified as her junk drawer.

"Nice place you got here." Jesse responded, looking around, "Do you rent or own?"

"Own. Well, actually—built. I always wanted something a little different than everyone else, and I came into a little extra money a few years ago, so I figured, what the hell? Bought a couple acres out here and just...Did my own thing."

"Right on. Looks nice. So what do you do? You know, for a job?"

"I'm... kind of an independent contractor." She said, rustling through a tangle of junk at the back of the drawer. "You know, you show people what you're good at and they hire you here and there for odd jobs as needed. The work isn't always steady, but it pays well if you know how to work the market."

She pulled a phone charger out from the drawer and eyeballed it carefully, wondering if it was the appropriate size.

"That doesn't sound like a bad deal at all." Jesse said, still admiring the décor.

"It's not." She responded, tossing him the charger. "Try that."

She directed him to the nearest outlet, and he plugged the phone into the wall. It lit up immediately and he was able to power it on, at which point he realized it was almost two o'clock in the morning.

"Shit." He said, staring at the screen. "I didn't realize it was so late."

"None of your friends are night owls?" She responded with a smirk, "Now _that_ is unexpected."

"Yeah, tell me about it. They used to be. I'm just gonna call them until they wake up and come get me." Jesse responded, flipping open the phone for what he knew was going to be a pointless adventure.

"Why don't you just stay here tonight?" She asked, stopping Jesse mid-dial. "I'm not going to lie, the couch isn't very comfortable, but it's already 2AM and I doubt your friends are going to want to drive around looking for this place in the middle of the night..."

"I couldn't. I mean, you've already gone so far out of your way to help me out and I appreciate that. I don't want to be in your way."

"Not at all. It's no problem. I'll tell you what," She began, heading toward the stairs, "I have to go to bed because I have stuff to do in the morning, but I'll go grab you a pillow and some blankets, and if you're still here when I wake up I'll know that you couldn't get that ride. If you leave, that's fine too, just lock the door on the way out, okay?"

"Uh.. Yeah. Cool." Jesse said, thumb resting on the 'dial' button of his phone. "Thanks."

She quickly climbed the staircase, and Jesse glanced thoughtfully down at the screen of his phone which was displaying Badger's number. He pondered the situation for a moment, but when he heard Carla's rustling upstairs finally quiet down as she reached the staircase again, he removed his thumb from the button and quickly flipped his phone shut.

#


	2. Chapter 2

#

Jesse woke the next morning to the sound and smell of bacon sizzling on the stove. Carla was there in jeans and a baggy brown sweater, moving the last of it over from the frying pan to a folded paper bag on the counter where it could drain. Jesse sat up on the couch, pressing the palm of his hand into his forehead as he stretched out his knotted back.

"Morning!" He heard Carla call from the kitchen, even though it was already ten of noon.

"Hey." Jesse responded, still rubbing his eyes as he staggered into the kitchen.

"I hope you like bacon and eggs. It's pretty much the extent of my cooking expertise."

"Yeah, yeah. That's great. You got anything to drink by any chance?"

"Yeah, of course." She said, "Do you drink tea?"

"Not really. Coffee, if anything. Usually Mountain Dew."

"Yeah... you can tell I rarely have company." She said laughing. "I've got tea, and if you're not really worried about it being way too early to drink, there's some Jack in the fridge."

Jesse opened the refrigerator door—there was _only_ Jack in the fridge. That, and a half-empty carton of eggs that she had likely picked up within the past few days.

"Oh, and water, of course." She added, motioning toward the sink.

"Nah, tea is fine." Jesse said, sitting down at the kitchen island in the center of the room.

Carla ripped open a small metallic pouch and pulled out a tea bag, placing it in a plain, rust-colored ceramic mug. She filled it with water, still hot from the kettle, before turning back to face Jesse, who was analyzing her every move.

"How do you like your tea?" She asked, holding out a spoon in her other hand.

Jesse gave her a 200-yard stare, and she realized that he had no idea what she was talking about.

"I don't know... Cold? In a cup? From a can that says 'Brisk' on it?" He responded, wondering why anyone bothered to make it themselves when they could already get it pre-made.

"Ugh," She shuttered, "that's not tea. Okay, I'll make it like mine and we can go from there."

She handed him the cup, and Jesse stared into it for a long moment as if it were full of goat's blood or something. Carla raised an eyebrow, urging him to try it, so finally he took a sheepish sip, trying his best not to get burned in the process.

"So...How is it?" She pressed, holding her own cup close to her chest with both hands.

"Not bad." He responded, convincingly.

"Good!" She said, making her way over to the sliding glass door that separated them from the outside world and pulling it open, "I don't know about you, but it's nice out, so I'm going to go sit outside."

As soon as her back was turned, Jesse grabbed the sugar container from the counter and dumped enough into his cup that it would no longer dissolve.

"Sure, sounds good." He said, grabbing the plate of food she had left for him and heading in the same direction.

The back patio overlooked a clear stretch of flat land, save for a handful of bushes here and there. There was a fire pit to their left, and an in-ground pool to the right that was still covered up from the winter. There were two heavily-padded lounge chairs by the door, each stretching lazily toward the back yard, with a long table between them. Jesse positioned himself in the one next to Carla, soaking up the sun. They engaged in some more general chit-chat over breakfast, sipping their teas and enjoying the cool, morning air.

"So what time do you have to leave for whatever it is you have to do today?" Jesse asked at last, plopping the spoon around in his cup.

"You're kidding, right?" She laughed. "It's already done."

"Really? What time did you get up? I didn't even hear you!"

"That's because I'm a ninja." She joked, "And also because you were out cold. I left at five-thirty."

"Five-thirty?!" Jesse exclaimed in disbelief, "How do you go to bed at 2AM and be ready to leave again at five-thirty? What are you, bionic?"

"Pretty much." She chuckled. "I just had to go check in on an order. So it was mainly just driving there, ten minutes of work, and then more driving back. I like to drive."

"I remember that." Jesse said, smiling.

"But," She began, changing the subject as she stood up from her lounge chair, "if you're all set out here, I'm going to go take a shower."

"Yeah, yeah. I should be good, thanks." He responded, following her with his eyes as she walked past.

Carla returned to the house, and Jesse paused for a moment before pulling his phone from his pocket. He began flipping through the contacts, and quickly realized that he didn't have very many reliable people that he could call 'friends'.

Skinny Pete didn't answer, and his voice mailbox was full, but that was nothing new—he never listened to his voice mail anyway. Badger was out of town for a few weeks, helping his grandmother rebuild her deck with a wheelchair ramp or something.

With no other viable options, Jesse began fruitlessly trying every contact he had listed, including some people he had only met a handful of times. Most didn't answer, some were disconnected, and the ones who did pick up all had very good excuses as to why they couldn't help him out with a place to stay until he could figure out what was going on at his house.

He didn't bother to call Walter White, but that didn't make a difference because as soon as he was about to slip his phone back into his pocket, it lit up with Walter's name clearly displayed on the screen.

"Yeah." Jesse said, not even in the mood to talk right now.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at a... friend's house." Jesse said, glancing up at one of the upstairs windows briefly.

There was an audible sigh on Walt's end of the line. Jesse could feel Walt judging him across the air waves.

"If by 'at a friend's house' you mean that you're walled up with that junkie Wendy at the Crystal Palace again, you need to—"

"No, Jesus," Jesse interrupted. "It's nothing like that."

"Well then what is it? On second thought, don't answer that, it isn't important."

Jesse rolled his eyes.

"I'm actually glad you aren't at home." Walt began, "That guy I told you to take care of the other day? Julio? I didn't know this at the time, but I was just informed that Julio has an older cousin who is pretty active in the cartel—"

"I didn't do shit to Julio, I—" Jesse interjected, but Walt cut him off.

"I know. Believe me, I heard all about it. And so did Julio's cousin. Now Julio's older cousin is looking for you, and by association, looking for me!"

"Oh come on! I tried to handle the situation with Julio, but when I—"

"You TRIED. You always TRY, Jesse, but you never DO! You never _achieve_."

"You know what, asshole? If you think you can do so much better, why don't you take a shot at it next time? Instead of leaving me with all the shit jobs and complaining when they aren't done to your bullshit standards, why don't you actually get of _your_ ass and do it yourself for once?!"

"To my standards? Let's talk for a minute about MY standards! When have you ever done anything to _my_ standards?! You screw things up on such a regular basis that it's a miracle in and of itself that we aren't both in jail right now!" Walt mocked angrily.

"Oh yeah, right. And speaking of jail, when I tried to call you last night for the _bazillionth_ time and you IGNORED ME, as usual... There were cops all over my yard looking around. I was trying to warn you, but heaven forbid you pull that stick out of your ass and answer the damn phone when I call you." Jesse lied a little bit, but the message was still solid.

There was silence for a brief moment.

"There were police officers in your house?" Walt repeated, his tone shifting from accusatory to concerned now.

"Yes. Well, I don't know exactly. I assume so because they were creeping around in my back yard last night with their flashlights, but I wasn't about to stop the car long enough to find out."

"Did they see your car?"

"No. I mean,_ my_ car was parked in the driveway, so I guess so... I was in a friend's car when we rolled past, and no, I don't think they saw it. But I don't know what was going on, or why they were even there."

"Do you have any incriminating evidence on the property?" Walt probed, likely for his own personal protection instead of looking out for Jesse's best interest.

"Uh, yeah." Jesse blurted, alerting Walt to the stupidity of the question. "Pretty much everything I have on that property is incriminating!"

There was a long pause on the line. Jesse assumed that Walt had hung up like he usually does, but the call was still active.

"I have to go." Walt said at last. "Call Saul, he'll know what to do."

The line went dead for real this time. Jesse pondered for a moment before realizing that Walt was right, and he flipped his phone open once more to call his lawyer. He was greeted by Francesca, Saul's secretary, who informed him that Saul was busy working on a very high-profile case at the moment and would be out of town for at least two weeks. She assured him that she would have Saul give him a call just as soon as he got back, though, which offered very little comfort to Jesse.

Carla returned from her shower in an outfit very similar to what she had on before, only opting for a t-shirt instead of a sweater now that it was starting to warm up a little.

"So... I guess you can just bring me back to my place whenever you want." Jesse explained, the touch of disappointment in his voice indicating that he had been unsuccessful in finding any answers.

"You weren't able to get a hold of any of your friends?" She asked, brushing the knots out of her hair quickly before she tied it up into a pony-tail.

"No, I did, but they were all busy." He responded.

"...And the thing with the cops?" She asked, approaching the subject cautiously, "What was up with that?"

Jesse looked away, silent at first, but he figured he at least owed her some kind of answer after all that she had done for him.

"I...don't know." —was the best he could manage.

She had grabbed her empty tea cup and was making thoughtful circles around the rim with her red-painted finger tip.

"Look," She began, "I don't know what's going on, but I can tell that you're nervous about going back there. Why don't you just stay here until you figure out what's going on?"

"I can't, it's too much." Jesse said, genuinely worried about becoming a burden to her this time.

"It's really not. I'm here by myself anyway, and you aren't exactly in the way... but you will have to fend for yourself when it comes to food and whatnot because I'm a shit cook."

"I wouldn't say that. You didn't burn the bacon!" Jesse said, smiling.

"I've met fourth graders who can say the same thing." She responded, laughing at his pseudo-compliment.

Jesse turned to stare at her for a moment in silence.

"Thank you." He said at last, "For everything."

"It's really no problem." She responded, turning her attention back toward him. "But in the mean time, we will need to run back to your place and get you some clothes and stuff. I don't think you're gonna fit in mine."

"I don't know," he said, "I tried them on while you were sleeping and it was pretty close..."

"I'm going to ignore that." She said, laughing.

It only took a few more hours of convincing to get Jesse into the car to return to his house for supplies. He was convinced that the police would be there waiting, or that maybe they had set up some kind of elaborate trap for him so that as soon as he stepped foot on the property the CIA, DEA, FBI, and anyone else would repel from the rooftops and take him into custody. (Twenty-five years of heavy drug use can make a person kind of paranoid, I guess.) Carla assured him that they would not be there waiting to take him in, and also reminded him that even if the place was surrounded with cops, they could always just drive right by like they had before and no one would suspect a thing.

"But what if they follow us?" Jesse asked, as the Impala turned down his road yet again.

She laughed.

"Honey, God himself could not catch this car. You're in good hands."

Jesse didn't look very reassured, but when they reached his house, he reluctantly got out of the car anyway. He looked around the yard suspiciously, checking the perimeter for signs of a break-in or any other kind of tampering to his property, but let's face it—would he have recognized it even if it were staring him right in the face? He tried to act casual, walking to the door at a deliberately slow pace to avoid looking like he was in an awkward hurry, but as soon as his key hit the lock he darted inside and slammed the door behind him. Carla shook her head laughing, because she could just picture him scurrying around in there like a cockroach when you turn on the light, frantically stuffing anything he could get his hands on into a duffel bag.

When Jesse emerged from the house a few minutes later carrying an over-stuffed duffel bag, Carla burst out laughing, prompting him to give her a questioning look. She just shook her head and waved him on as he threw the bag into his own car. He started the engine, and then pulled up next to her on the road.

"So do you need to follow me, or...?" She asked, still trying not to laugh.

"No, I think I can remember how to get there." He responded, wondering what was so funny all of a sudden.

"You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that." She said

Carla put the car back into gear, and from that moment on, Jesse didn't see so much as a tail light for the entire drive back to her place. He imagined that she never got pulled over because she always drove so fast past the police that they couldn't actually see her.

#

The first two days at Carla's house were spent eating junk food and watching movies that may or may not have been illegally downloaded. Jesse had his own car with him now, so he could come and go as he pleased, but the more he thought about it, the less he actually wanted to leave at all. Carla took care of any business she may have had well before Jesse even woke up in the morning, and they spent the days together just sitting back and relaxing, sipping tea in the sun. On the third night, when Carla was headed off to bed, she noticed that Jesse had laid all the blankets down on the floor instead of the couch.

"Gave up on the couch, huh?" She asked motioning to the little nest he had made for himself.

"Yeah, uh... You were pretty right about the couch. It'll do a number on your back." He said, running his hand over the back of his neck.

"Soooo... why don't you just come sleep upstairs?" She asked, nodding toward the stair case.

There was no discernible underlying meaning to the question at all. Jesse couldn't tell if she was trying to imply something sexual, or if she was just genuinely concerned about the discomfort of his back. Not knowing what she meant by asking made coming up with an appropriate response next to impossible.

"Uh... Sure. You got like, a spare room or something?" He asked, not quite as subtly as it had sounded in his head.

"Yeah," She responded, starting up the stairs, "but it's not set up."

Jesse was completely caught off guard, and for the first time in his entire life (in a good way, at least) his heart was pounding so nervously in his chest that he felt like throwing up. He stood up quickly, trying in vain to shake off his nerves, and followed her up the stairway. When he reached the top of the stairs, he passed by two other rooms—a bathroom and the spare bedroom— and he noticed that the spare bedroom was packed straight to the door with loaded cardboard boxes. His chest tightened as he nervously proceeded toward her bedroom at the end of the hall.

Carla was already in bed, setting her alarm for some God-awful time in the early morning, when Jesse approached the other side of the king-sized mattress. He stood there for a moment, frozen, while Carla continued to assess his comfort level under the guise of being completely occupied with her alarm clock. Ever the perfect gentleman, Jesse patted down the dark comforter and laid awkwardly on top of it, clinging to the edge of the bed to leave as much space between the two as humanly possible.

Carla glanced sideways at him as if to imply that he could not possibly be serious.

"What are you, like twelve?" She asked, mocking him playfully.

Jesse laughed, shifting uncomfortably.

"I just... Didn't want it to be weird." He responded finally.

"It's only weird if you make it weird." She stated simply. "And right now, you're making it pretty weird."

"Sorry." Jesse responded, getting up again to crawl beneath he covers. He still firmly maintained his distance.

"See?" She said with mild sarcasm, "That's much better."

Jesse had lost his nerve to try anything the moment he saw that the spare bedroom was loaded down with boxes. He kept his distance all night, petrified to move, and Carla didn't push the matter because she knew that he would come around eventually on his own. Besides, they had a good thing going as it was, and Jesse was terrified of saying or doing something stupid to ruin it, even though he got along with Carla wonderfully and she didn't seem to think that he was capable of doing anything wrong.

As if the first night wasn't awkward enough, Jesse was wide awake for the majority of the second night that he spent in her bed. His brain was alive with different possibilities, trying desperately to figure out what all this was supposed to mean. At one point, he almost had a heart attack when Carla rolled over in her sleep and the back of her hand landed on his chest. In that moment, he decided that he was being completely ridiculous, and that he was going to make his move on the third night—but when the third night actually came around, he convinced himself that she must not want to take things to the next level because if she did, she would have made a move by then herself. He didn't realize how stupid he was until the next morning, when he awoke to an empty bed with the sound of his telephone ringing from the nightstand. It was Walt.

"Yeah." He answered through a sigh, sitting up in the mess of blankets and cloud-like pillows.

"Are you seriously just waking up? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Jesse rolled his eyes, and then lazily began to rub them with the base of his palm.

"I don't know, like...Seven?"

"One. One o'clock in the afternoon, Jesse." Walt snapped.

"Whatever, yo. What do you want?"

"Something came up and we need to talk. _Today_. I didn't see your car at home, where are you?"

"I'm at a... friend's house."

"Still?" Walt probed. "What's the address? I'll meet you there."

"No! No. You're not meeting me here, okay?" Jesse barked, spinning around to a seated position on the edge of the bed.

"Why not?" Walt continued to pry before it finally clicked with him, "Oh, I understand... It's a _girl_friend."

"She's not my—Can't we just... meet at the mall or something?" Jesse pleaded, realizing that there really was no point in trying to argue with Walt.

"No. This information is extremely confidential. Believe me, I wouldn't normally choose to conduct our business...where ever you are, either," Walt judged with presumptuous disgust, "but it is very important that I see you, _right now_. Tell your girlfriend to put her clothes back on and give me that address."

For the life of him, Jesse had no idea why he continued to take that kind of abuse and entertain all of Mr. White's frivolous demands, but he gave him the address anyway, hoping that he wasn't about to make a huge mistake. He shuffled down the stairs to find Carla sitting at the kitchen island with a book and a cup of tea, eating...some kind of salad or something.

"Uh, hey." Jesse began, unsure how to approach the conversation.

"Hey." Carla responded, only looking up briefly from her book.

"So, I just got a call from my...friend." Jesse began carefully, "He said he has something very important he needs to talk to me about right away, so I gave him this address. Is that cool?"

"Yeah, that's fine." She responded, "When should we be expecting him?"

"Any minute now... I think." Jesse responded, taking the seat next to her at the island.

Jesse always did have a tendency to zone out a lot when he first woke up, but this time he was staring at the lettuce on the plate as if it were some kind of disturbing, unidentifiable life form. He looked up briefly to see Carla giving him a weird look from the corner of her eye.

"Want some?" She asked, smiling.

"Absolutely not." He laughed.

They sat quietly for the better part of forty-five minutes, Jesse checking the clock periodically and Carla only pulling away from her book to make simple chit-chat while they waited.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the kitchen door.

Carla instinctively looked away from her book, but it was too late. Jesse was up like a jack-in-the-box, and he got to the door instead. She heard some quiet mumbling before Jesse returned to the room, followed by a tall, bald man with a goatee, who Jesse then introduced as Walt.

Jesse and this man made some generalized small-talk, but Carla couldn't be bothered to listen to it. Instead, she sneakily peered out from behind her book to study this new person in her home. Walt didn't touch anything while he was there, but she could see him meticulously eyeballing every open surface as he spoke with Jesse, almost as if he were looking for something. In fact, he almost seemed disappointed when he didn't find anything—like he knew something was there, and was just searching for the proof. Unbeknownst to Carla, Walt too had immediately associated her with Jane. From the moment he walked through the door, he had been scouring her home for some sign of obvious drug use to confirm his original assumption that Jesse had spent the last five days there, trashed out of his mind with his brand new junkie girlfriend—but there was no proof to be found. That seemed to disappointed him, because instead of taking the lack of visible proof as a sign that no drugs were there, Walt just assumed that Jesse had become better at hiding it from him.

"So, you wanna tell me why you're here?" Jesse said at last, snapping both Walt and Carla back to reality.

There was quite a long pause.

"Well..." Walt said, choosing his words carefully as he glanced over at Carla to remind Jesse that she was still in the room.

Carla sensed his discomfort at her presence, and she looked up flatly from her book. Just as she was about to stand up and offer to leave, Jesse interjected.

"Don't worry." He said. "She's cool."

"She's _cool_?" Walt repeated, as if that statement were meant to put his mind at ease or something. "Just what does that mean, exactly?"

Startled by Walt's sudden rudeness, Jesse opened his mouth nervously to respond, but the sound of Carla's book being placed carefully on the table stopped him short.

"It means," She said, pausing deliberately until she had both of their attention, "that I don't give a damn about either of you being drug dealers."

Walt snapped his head around angrily to glare at Jesse, but the shocked expression on Jesse's face said that he hadn't told Carla anything, and that he was just as mortified as Walt was that those words had come out of her mouth.

#


	3. Chapter 3

#

"Would you like some tea?" Carla asked Walt, finally breaking the powerful silence with a failed attempt to change the subject.

Without bothering to wait for his answer, she got up and began making him a cup anyway. She knew that she had opened a huge can of worms, and a little bit of busy work would hopefully show them that she had no intention of escalating the situation any further than it already needed to be.

When she turned back around to face them, Jesse had sunk back down into one of the kitchen chairs, his mind abuzz with all the things he may have accidentally said to lead up to this moment. Walt, on the other hand, was leaning on the kitchen island, holding himself up with two clenched fists. He was lurching forward in her general direction, and looked like a wild animal about to pounce on his prey.

"Woah woah woah!" She exclaimed, placing the hot mug on the furthest edge of the island and then sliding it carefully over toward Walt with her fingertips, "Easy there, killer."

Jesse glanced up at Walt, wondering what was going to happen next, and he could see the mood shift on Walt's face as he realized that there really was nothing he could do. His instincts told him to attack to protect himself, but his moral, logical mind reminded him that this was still a young girl, much smaller than himself, and that hurting her in any way would send him down a dark path that he would never be able to return from. Carla raised an eyebrow as she studied this behavior—she could easily gather all of this information off of both of their faces, and to her, reading body language was like eavesdropping on some kind of private conversation.

Walt pushed himself away from the island and paced over toward the sink. He stroked his goatee slowly with his fingers while he tried to figure out what the best course of action would be in this situation. In Carla's own kitchen, he stood there trying to decide her fate right in front of her. Jesse lowered his gaze to some tiny piece of paper he had found, and he was fixated on crumpling it up as small as possible between his fingers. He didn't want to have to think about this situation right now, because he knew that whatever Walt came up with would not likely be in Carla's best interest, but realistically, what would he be able to do to protect her?

Walt jumped a bit when he realized that Carla was now standing close enough to touch him. Her arm brushed past him, and she attempted to hand him the hot cup.

"Try it." She insisted, placing the cup into the hand that Walt had absentmindedly extended to her.

"It is pretty bomb." Jesse added quietly, still not looking up from his war against the tiny paper.

"I've had tea before, Jesse." Walt said, wrapping his other hand around the warmth of the cup as he stared blankly out the window into the distance.

Carla turned around to lean backwards on the counter, facing Walt. The tension in the room was thick and heavy, like when you find yourself faced with an impossible decision that you know will hurt someone in the end, but it has to be made anyhow. She studied him for a few moments longer before breaking the silence once more.

"You're thinking about killing me, aren't you?" She asked bluntly, watching his face carefully for sign of a reaction.

"No!" Walt snapped back immediately, sincerely horrified by the thought, "Absolutely not!"

Although Walt would never admit it out loud, Jesse looked up just in time to see his expression turn rigidly stern upon realizing that that was exactly what he had been thinking.

"Oh, I think you are." Carla added, bouncing a little on her wrists that were supporting her weight on the counter top. "At the very least, you're wondering what you should _do_ about me, yes? You see me as a threat now, don't you?"

Walt wasn't going to dignify that with a response, but curiosity got the better of him.

"I'd like to know _how_ you know whatever it is you _think_ you know." He stated, deciding that it would be best to not confirm her prior accusations until he was certain that there was no doubt.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." She said, smiling.

Immediately, Walt went back into plotting mode, and Carla realized that she was dangerously close to overplaying her hand. Walt was clearly in no mood for games.

"Let's just say," she began with a pause, "that it's my job to know what you do."

Silence filled the room for a moment before the sound of Jesse's arm falling flat across the island to gesture at Carla attracted their attention.

"Jesus, are you a fucking _cop_?" He asked, mortified by the possibility.

"No!" She responded quickly, almost laughing at this, "God, no."

Jesse diverted his gaze, unsure what to believe at this point, and he ran his hand through his hair. Walt didn't say a word—he just kept staring out the window in silent contemplation.

"I'll tell you what," she said, pushing herself up from the counter, "how about we even the playing field a bit?"

This got Walt's attention. Jesse's was soon to follow.

"You're upset because I know about you and your line of work—believe me, I get that. And now you're worried that I might be some kind of liability to you because... Well, I could always tell someone else, or go to the police or something, right?"

Walt was with her so far, but she could see that the very mention of the word "police" was making him very angry and unsteady.

"So," she continued, prompting them to follow as she headed toward a walk-in closet in the living room, "what if I were to put your minds to ease by telling you something equally incriminating about myself? Then, we'd both have to trust each other, and we wouldn't have to worry because neither of us can roll on the other without going to jail ourselves. Is that fair?"

Jesse was very confused. What could she have possibly been hiding from him this whole time, and why? If she knew anything about him at all, she should have known that she could trust him, and that kind of hurt.

Walt was weighing the pros and cons of this proposal, and overall it seemed like a fair idea, but she would have to have a closet full of dead bodies in order for him to feel like their "secrets" were even close to equal.

Carla rested her hand on the knob of the closet door, looking at them expectantly as if she were awaiting their approval. It never came, but she opened the door anyway, revealing... a pretty standard looking closet.

"Coats?" Walt mocked, unimpressed, "Your secret is...coats?"

"What? ...Shut up. My secret," she corrected, "is that when you build your own home, things aren't always what they seem."

Carla stepped into the tiny room and grabbed onto the coat rack, pulling it off of a hinge and over to one side. Behind it, there was a rectangular cutout in the sheet rock that flipped open to reveal a keypad. Blocking the keypad with her body, she quickly entered a six-digit code which released the wall into a giant, pressurized door, almost like a panic room. Walt and Jesse looked at each other, dumbfounded. When they glanced back at Carla, she was already waiting impatiently for them to follow.

The three stepped through the door, which lead to a small room about the size of a child's bedroom, but far more high-tech. Very much like a panic room indeed, there were monitors on the left of the room displaying a live camera feed that covered almost every inch of the property outside, and one was attached to a keyboard displaying a terminal with a chair in front of it. On the furthest side of the small room was a long table with an open lock box on it, several passports and IDs strewn about, each with different names on them but a very similar picture. Just behind that was an entire wall of tiny locking vaults, almost like a set of safety deposit boxes in a bank. There was a large trunk to the right of the room with an AR-15 laying in pieces across the top, cleaning supplies and newspaper on the floor beside it.

Carla walked over to the wall of safety deposit boxes and turned to address the two speechless men, mouth agape in her doorway.

"Pick one." She said, motioning to the wall like Vanna White on Wheel of Fortune.

Neither Walt nor Jesse made a sound. There was too much information being processed for them to play games right now.

"Fine." She said, pulling out a large key ring. "I'll choose."

She unlocked and pulled open a seemingly random tray, only to display that it was stuffed to the brim with banded stacks of one-hundred dollar bills. She waved her hand over it again dramatically to make sure that the boys were paying attention before slamming it shut and choosing another box on the opposite side of the wall. Again, she displayed that it was stuffed to capacity with banded piles of money.

"Satisfied? Because I can do this all day..." She said, smiling.

Walt had nothing to say at the moment. It was Jesse who finally broke the silence.

"So... You're in the business, too?" He said, still a little hurt that she hadn't mentioned it sooner, but also thankful that she was now much less of a threat to Walt than she had been ten minutes ago.

"It's never a good idea to actually admit to being a drug dealer out loud," She said, closing the lock box and taking several steps toward them. "but I think it's safe to assume that I didn't make this money flipping burgers at McDonalds."

Silence filled the room once more. Still in shock, Walt finally took a sip of his tea.

After returning to the kitchen, Walt and Jesse sat across from each other at the island in silent disbelief. Carla busied herself with the dishes, and let them have their moment.

"So.." Jesse said quietly, breaking the silence, "What did you need to talk to me about, anyway?"

"Huh? Oh. Right." Walt began, obviously distracted, "I was just offered the deal of a lifetime. _We_ were just offered the deal of a lifetime. Three million dollars, cash. But we have to start working today. I can't meet that volume without your help."

Jesse looked over at Carla. Despite everything that had just happened, and everything he likely still didn't know about her, he found himself not wanting to leave.

"Jesse... An opportunity like this will not come along again. We _have_ to do this. Now."

Jesse knew that at that price, Walt was right, but more importantly he just needed some time to clear his head. He never really considered being locked away for days on end with Walt a pleasant distraction, but right now, he'd take it. When Carla had finished doing the dishes, Jesse explained the situation to her as vaguely as possible, knowing that she already had a pretty good idea of what was going on anyway. What he didn't know was that she had overheard the entire conversation with Walt, but she wasn't about to volunteer that information, either.

"Are you going to come back here when this is all done, or...?" She asked, obviously wondering about the status of their "relationship" after everything that had just happened, and for once, Jesse was able to pick up on that right away.

He paused, unsure of what to say, or what the right choice should have been under the circumstances.

"Yeah." He said, choosing at last to follow his heart with a half-smile that ached with uncertainty, "I mean, if that's okay with you."

"Of course it is." She responded, smiling back at him. "I've gotten kind of used to having you here. It would be really... quiet... without you."

Jesse smiled for real this time, despite himself. Walt stood silently in the corner, monitoring the situation carefully with the rigid posture of a terrifying statue. He did not trust Carla at all, and he was not afraid to show it.

#

Day four of working straight-through on the the cook site, and Jesse and Walt had been making some decent progress. They were still in the beginning stages of what would likely take them several more weeks, but whenever possible, they always liked to muscle through the first few days before they started going home at night so that they would always be ahead of schedule rather than behind. At least that was something they could agree on.

Walt had given Skyler yet another half-assed excuse as to where he was going to be, so when his phone started vibrating crazily in his pocket, he didn't even bother to look at it. He treated his phone like a Schrodinger's Cat experiment—on the one hand, he KNEW that it was Skyler on the other end, but on the other hand, if he never actually looked he would never know for sure, and that way he didn't have to feel as guilty for not answering. I mean, it could have been anyone, right? It wasn't until his OTHER phone started vibrating his right leg that he became truly concerned.

Walt pulled the phone from his pocket and checked the number. THAT was Skyler. He must have placed the wrong phone in the wrong pocket, because his house number was not saved into his burn phone... But then who the hell had been calling his burn phone? He pulled the other (almost identical) cell from his left pocket, replacing it with his normal cell that should have been on that side to begin with, and checked the screen. Seven missed calls...From Jesse. Walt sighed.

"Would you take your phone out of your pocket, please." He asked, turning to Jesse. "I just got seven missed calls from you and almost had a heart attack because I thought something was seriously wrong at home."

"Yeah, sorry." Jesse said, reaching into his pocket. "It mus have opened somehow."

Jesse froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing. He checked his other pocket, and then quickly began patting himself down in search of his cell phone.

"I..don't have it?" He said, confused. "Shit! I think I left it on the nightstand after you called me the other day."

"Oh, well that's just great. Good thing we aren't stuck out here or something..." Walt reprimanded

"Yeah, it's not like I have my car out front or anything...dick." Jesse responded shortly. "Wait, did you say seven missed calls? Carla is the only with access to my phone right now, I should call her back. Let me use yours real quick."

"She's calling you at work now? Well, that's cute..." Walt said, ignoring the request as he continued on with his work.

Jesse rolled his eyes at the comment, but he actually had a pretty bad feeling about this situation.

"I don't think she would call just to talk," he said. "This might actually be important. Please?"

Walt gave Jesse an exaggerated look of annoyance, but he pulled his phone from his pocket again, anyway. Holding it up to make sure Jesse was paying attention, he pressed the "dial" button and raised the phone to his own ear, fully intent on chewing Carla out when she answered. She didn't. Instead, it was a male's voice with a thick Mexican accent on the line. Walt's face fell in shock, but he turned away so as not to worry Jesse too much prematurely. It didn't work.

"Who is this?" Walt demanded, but the cracking of his voice was not at all intimidating.

"It's Julio, brother! Remember me?" Came the chipper response. Walt cringed, sensing the other man grinning through the phone like the cat that had eaten the canary.

"What do you want?" Walt asked

"It's not what we want, it's what we have. We got yo girl, man. And if I don't see you and that scrawny little bitch partner of yours in my uncles office in one hour, you're gonna need her dental records to identify the body."

Walt let out a quiet sigh. Jesse was dancing around anxiously behind him, and he knew that this problem had to be resolved once and for all.

"What's the address?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:**_ We're getting into the parts of the story that completely conflict with what actually happened in the show. I apologize for that, but I'm switching things up and changing the ending because I have God complex and I like variety. We already know how the show ends, so dabbling in the "what-ifs" won't hurt anyone, right? Good. On we go..._

#

The large chain-link gate opened slowly as Jesse's car whipped up the road toward it. Without so much as a second thought, he flew past the first guard outside, likely covering him with a cloud of dust, and sped up the short stretch of driveway until he was as close to the gate as they would ever allow him to be. On the other side of the gate, after about twenty more yards of driveway, was a very solid, government-style building. These people were not government officials themselves, so they had likely designed and had the place built themselves, or maybe bought out a former headquarters of some kind when its original occupants decided to relocate.

Three men met them on either side of the car when it had finally come to a stop. Jesse shut off the engine, and he and Walt stepped out to face the giant bouncer-like henchmen. They were large indeed, and it was for this reason that Walt maintained a casual demeanor, waiting until he had an appropriate amount of time to assess the situation before doing anything stupid. Jesse, on the other hand, was already trying to square off with the largest of the three. The three men didn't seem to be phased by any of it, and they simply did their job of patting down the two new arrivals and escorting them through the gate before bringing them up to their boss's office.

Looking around the large office, Walt couldn't help but notice how much it reminded him of Tuco's old place; only this time he had nothing available to blow it up with. There was a large desk near the wall adjacent the door, and behind that desk was a heavy-hitter in the cartel drug world known only as "The Hammer". Well, also known as "Julio's cousin," but primarily "The Hammer". Unlike Tuco, The Hammer was at least comparable in size to what his name might imply. He wasn't huge, or overly muscular, like someone who spends their free time bench-pressing the lifeless bodies of their enemies; he was actually built more like Hank—slightly heavy set with wide shoulders, and the distinct ability to throw his weight around wherever and whenever he deemed necessary... Hence the name.

To their surprise, they were greeted by Carla as soon as they entered the room, and she was just as surprised to see them as they were to see her. Walt and Jesse quickly made their way to join her in the center of the room, where they tried their best not to huddle together like a pack of frightened gerbils. It was difficult to maintain their composure while surrounded by four large, heavily armed men (not counting the much smaller Julio, of course) who had individually seen more conflict than their entire group combined, and who all likely wanted to kill them as well. These large men shifted their weight from time to time—an intimidation tactic cleverly disguised as the casual crossing of arms or resting of a thumb lazily inside of a belt loop. The only one who seemed ignorant to the danger of the situation was Carla, who continued to break rule number one by making consistent eye contact with The Hammer.

"Welcome to the party, Heisenberg!" his voice croaked from behind the large desk like a bullfrog.

That statement was terribly misleading—this was no party, at least not for the people who were there involuntarily. The Hammer didn't speak to Jesse at all, he just glared at him briefly until Jesse diverted his gaze uncomfortably. Walt had been right all along, and none of them would be there if Jesse had just taken care of Julio before it had gotten out of hand... But now, it was too late.

"My cousin Julio here said that you two ripped him off." The Hammer began, eying all three of his captors intently as he spoke.

"What?!" Jesse exclaimed in disbelief, "We never ri—"

"Shut up you little bitch, I wasn't talking to you!" The Hammer interrupted, almost smiling as if he had deliberately baited Jesse into responding so he would have an excuse to tear him down verbally before he got started on the physical brutality.

"You were slinging your shit on my turf, and I put Julio in charge of the area we caught your fool asses in, which means you were ripping him off. Which also means, you were ripping _me_ off."

He continued to study them all very carefully, anxiously awaiting the moment that one of them would speak out, trying desperately to defend their actions, and allow him the opportunity to mop the floor with them. To his disappointment, Carla was silent, Jesse had already learned his lesson, and Walt was waiting for a better time before interjecting his own two cents.

"Now, which one of you thinks that trying to rip me off is a good idea?"

He looked at Walt. He looked at Jesse. He finally looked at Carla—all nothing.

"No one thinks it's a good idea to try and rip me off?" The Hammer continued, surveying the room for a reaction, "Well, you're right about that. Now, I was going to try to be...diplomatic about this whole thing—you know, bring you in here, maybe take out your kneecaps with a crowbar or something... Just to make sure the message went across loud and clear, ya know? But then Julio came to me the other day and informed me that your little errand boy came to his house trying to kill him! That's just disrespectful."

Jesse shot an 'I told you so' look at Walt, but Walt was too busy scheming for their escape to really notice.

"Now, it would seem," The Hammer continued, pausing as he leaned forward on his desk menacingly, "that I'm going to have to kill you. I mean, I can't go letting your lack of respect set an example to everyone else, can I?"

He smiled deviously as he saw the terror rise in both Walt and Jesse's eyes. Frantically, they tried to think of something—anything—they could say or do to get out of this situation, but they weren't having any luck. The Hammer was obviously not about to listen to reason. Finally he turned his attention back to Carla, who was still studying him carefully.

"I'm just really sorry you had to get caught up in all this, sweetheart. Your little boyfriend is a tough guy to find when he's hiding out like a coward." The Hammer added, figuring he would get a rise out of Jesse if he couldn't get one out of her, "I couldn't have done it without you. But now, unfortunately, you are part of it. Which means I'll have to kill you, too. Don't worry, though— I'll try to make it count for something. Maybe if I kill you in front of him, he'll learn a thing or two about loyalty right before he dies..."

"Or," Carla interjected, shattering the dramatic pause before their certain execution, "you could just let us go."

The silent pause in conversation was so brief that it was actually of questionable existence before the entire room erupted into fits of laughter. Jesse shot Walt a mortified look as they both tried to process what had just been said and how she could be dumb enough to even suggest it. Furthermore, if they only had one chance to speak on their own behalves, she may have just blown it for all of them; at least Walt would have had a chance at being persuasive. The hysterical, if not a bit sarcastic, laughter slowly began to die down, and at least one giant man had to actually wipe tears from his eyes. Carla waited patiently for the men to compose themselves.

"Now, wh-hahahaha...What makes you think I would want to do something like that?" The Hammer finally managed as he struggled to to catch his breath between gasps.

"Because we all know that my friends here..." she began, making a limp-wristed gesture to Walt and Jesse over her shoulder "make the purest methamphetamine product in the state of New Mexico. But be that as it may, they are not self-employed. They work for someone much higher up the food chain than you...sir...no offense... And that someone will not be happy when he finds out that his all-star cooks are dead in a ditch somewhere. When that happens, who do you think they'll come looking for?"

The Hammer feigned an almost passable look concern.

"I don't know." He responded sarcastically, stroking his stubbled chin slowly as if he were deep in thought, "No one knows where we are, and they sure as shit don't know that you're here with us, so who would they come looking for?" He taunted.

Carla scoffed a bit at this. "If he doesn't know now, he will make short work of figuring it out. Do you really think someone in that high of a position would fail to keep track of his competition? When it comes his cooks, this guy is like their own personal Santa Clause—he sees them when they're sleeping, and he knows when they're awake. You can bet your hiney he knows when their lives are in danger, and he's not shy about sending someone out to recollect his men for him whenever the need should arise. Who do you think pays for—and tracks—the burn phone you used in this office to get in touch with Walt?"

You could have heard a pin drop in the room as Carla stretched the truth a little bit. No one was tracking Jesse's phone, but she didn't need to convince them—all she needed was a shadow of doubt.

"And then..." she continued, "There's the matter of the three million dollars."

That got their attention. She paused for a moment, letting the suspense build as Walt finally began to realize what was happening.

"They just finished up a three million dollar contract with this individual—"

"Carla!" Walt interrupted, but he was quickly silenced by one of The Hammer's men, who was suddenly very interested in her story.

"...All that's left is to collect the money. But this guy," she continued, not waiting to be prompted to finish the story, "he's really...cautious. He has his own system that he sticks to very adamantly, and only when he's certain that everything is in order will he pay them what they agreed upon. They've already done their part. All they have to do now is go get it. Three MILLION dollars, just sitting there, waiting to be picked up. The problem is, they are the ONLY ones who can do it—the money will not change hands with anyone else, and this guy will kill anyone who tries. Believe me, he has the resources."

Jesse looked at Walt; Walt looked at Jesse. The Hammer never took his eyes off of Carla, who seemed to have an exceptional poker face, but he straightened his posture, keeping his arms crossed defiantly on his chest. This time, his interest in what she had to say appeared to be very real, despite his best attempt to seem nonchalant about it.

"Well," He began, raising his eyebrows with throat-clearing hack so he didn't seem too eager to jump on this opportunity, "that explains why I should let THEM go. But there's no reason you can't stay a while and party with us until they get back here with OUR money!" The Hammer exclaimed, shooting a knowing glance up to his men, who were all bobbing their smirking heads in twisted agreement.

Jesse's mouth opened to protest, but he saw Walt carefully make a motion with his hand to silence him. Walt looked on skeptically, unsure if this was part of some plan, or if he should be trying to step in and save her. There really was no way to tell at this point.

"Kinda... Like collateral?" Carla asked with hopeful innocence, but there was an obvious look of worry spreading across her face. This plan didn't seem to have gone as she had originally thought it would.

"We can call it that." The Hammer stated smugly, his eyes glistening with fiendish amusement as he watched the hatred build up in Jesse's eyes.

Carla rubbed her arm nervously for a moment. She seemed deep in thought while considered (what she assumed to be) her 'choices', but everyone else in the room knew that she didn't really have any.

"Deal." She said at last, locking eyes with The Hammer once more.

"NO!" Jesse interjected, unable to hold his silence any longer. He stomped forward, pointing his finger dangerously at the much larger man running this show, "No deal. Either you let her go with us or we don't get you shit!"

Walt's mouth dropped in shock before he snapped to his senses and grabbed at Jesse's arm, pulling him back into place. Carla shot Jesse a look that screamed 'shut up, you idiot' in a language only they could understand before returning her gaze to the man behind the desk.

"If I let her go with you, what reason would you have to come back?" The Hammer asked, half-mockingly.

Jesse thought about it for a moment before turning a pleading eye to Walt, who suddenly had no idea what was going on anymore.

"Mr. White, if she stays here...We can't let her stay here. Please!" Jesse pleaded helplessly.

Walt opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words just weren't there. What do you do when every available option is a terrible choice? He just shook his head, not knowing who he should be agreeing with right now, but understanding something that Jesse obviously wasn't able to at the moment—they were surrounded. They were outnumbered, and outmatched...they literally had no other choice.

The decision wasn't theirs to make anyhow. They could deny it all they wanted, but it had already been made for them, and they were just going to have to accept it.

"We'll come back, I promise!" Jesse pleaded in pure desperation. His cries were only met by more laughter from the men.

"He promises!" The Hammer exclaimed, holding his arms out to his men who were already in stitches. Jesse hung his head in defeated aggravation.

"Just go." Carla said finally, calming the noise in the room as she glanced over her shoulder at Walt and Jesse behind her. "I got this. Besides, I'm sure Mr. Hammer can be reasoned with. I've been told I'm a pretty shrewd negotiator!"

There was a quieter outbreak of laughter at this but The Hammer raised his hand slightly to silence it.

"Mr. Hammer..." He mouthed silently, his brow raising with a look that said he had never heard that one before. He toyed with the idea of crushing her hopes of 'shrewdly negotiating' her way out of his control, but decided to let it go if the little bit of false hope it offered had any chance of speeding this process along at all.

"Yeah, Jesse. Maybe we can...negotiate, and I'll just let her go." He mocked, fighting back the laughter that came with Jesse's look of disgust.

"Don't worry, Jesse." She said, smiling sweetly again, "I'll see you at home!" She was so innocent, and so helplessly oblivious to the negative undertones of what she had just agreed to that Jesse's stomach turned at the thought of her saying goodbye.

"Yeah, Jesse! She'll see you at home!" Julio scoffed from the corner of his cousin's desk. If looks could kill, Jesse would have melted him with heat vision, but this just made Julio laugh even harder.

"Until then," The Hammer concluded, silencing his toadie, "she's gonna stay right here with us until you come back with my money. Get these assholes out of my office!" He said, motioning to his men collectively.

Walt kept a blank expression and walked in stride with the man pulling him toward the door by the arm while Jesse struggled a bit, looking over his shoulder in sheer panic, only to see Carla waving at him as if she were sending him off to school.

'_How_. Are. You. So. STUPID?!'—it played again and again in his head. Or maybe she wasn't? Maybe she was just as terrified as he was, and she was just trying to be strong for their sake? Maybe she was trying to save them, like some kind of martyr or something, but why?

They were escorted all the way back to the front of the property, and the large, chain-link fence was slammed shut and locked behind them. The Hammer's bouncers walked away with indifference, chuckling amongst themselves at a private joke. They weren't worried about Walt or Jesse trying to get back inside, because doing so undetected would be impossible with all the cameras (which were on them right now, in fact), and it would also guarantee them certain execution when they got caught. It was only by miracle that they were still alive as it is, but the bouncers wouldn't lose any sleep if either of them wanted to try their luck at dodging bullets.

There was only a brief pause before Walt began walking away. Actually, it was less than a run, but more like a power-walk in the general direction of Jesse's car, which had somehow been moved out of the drive way since they had not been expected to return. Jesse looked confused for a moment before quickly catching up to him and grabbing his arm, pulling him to a stop in the middle of the road.

"What the hell are you doing, man? We can't just leave her in there with them! We have to... We have to do _something_!" He exclaimed, waving his arm around like a lunatic.

Walt paused, allowing Jesse a moment to collect himself and for the gravity of the situation to finally sink in.

"And what precisely is it that you think we should do? Huh?" Walt protested, narrowing his eyes at the frantic youth.

"I don't know!" He responded, throwing his arm out to the side, "But we can't just...do nothing!"

"Jesse." Walt began, causing the boy to roll his eyes in anticipation of a long spiel that they did not have time for, "There is nothing we _can_ do. Not yet. Do you think I want to leave her alone in there myself? I don't like this any more than you do. I _care_ about her well-being... just as much as you." The look on Jesse's face told him that he was wrong about that, but Walt was lying anyway so he continued, "I...I don't want to see her get hurt. I don't want _anyone_ to get hurt. But if we try to go back in there right now, empty handed... we ALL die. You, me, her—dead. Get it? If you want to help her—the ONLY way to help her—is to get that money."

"Oh, right," Jesse snapped, eyes narrowing in disbelief as he stepped right up in Walt's personal space, "and where do you suppose we just...get... three million dollars? Huh? Maybe We can pull some OT at your car wash and rack up some quick Benjis just in time to save her life?"

"Jesse, please," Walt said, changing his tone dramatically, "I'm on your side with this. Believe me. But the way I see it, there's only one favorable way out of this for her..."

"And what's that?" Jesse asked, unsure as to whether or not he really wanted to hear the answer.

"We have to finish the cook." Came the reply.

"FINISH THE COOK?!" …...He was yelling again. He took several steps backward in a mixture of shock and disbelief, and had suddenly become very animated with his gestures. "How the hell am I supposed to 'finish the cook' knowing that she's still stuck in there? Knowing that we just _left_ her in there to die...or God only knows what else?!"

Walt motioned with his hands for Jesse to lower his voice and calm down. He stepped closer to the boy, closing the distance a bit as he explained himself calmly. "Look, I know it's not going to be easy, but I can't think of any other way to come up with three million dollars over night, can you?"

There was a short pause before Jesse shrugged his shoulders, dropping his arms to his sides in exhausted defeat.

"If we finish this batch tonight, we can go talk to Gus first thing tomorrow morning. Maybe if we explain the situation to him, he will be sympathetic enough to grant us a loan on the money he will owe us later. It's the best chance we've got. It's the _only_ chance we've got."

Jesse shook his head. He was not satisfied with this idea at all.

"If you have a better idea," Walt insisted, "I'm all ears."

#


	5. Chapter 5

As far as bad nights go, this had been the worst. Like, worse than "falling through the roof of an outhouse, and crying yourself to sleep on the floor of an RV while covered in fluids from the bowels of hell" kind of bad, and Jesse would know. It started with the duo deciding to drop Jesse's dusty, banged up car off at his house, choosing to arrive at the cook site in Walt's SUV in a futile attempt to look more presentable when they went to see Gus later that morning. After several hours of small talk in the lab to keep themselves distracted, and fixing all of the little mistakes that were made because neither of them could keep their minds on the job at hand, it was done. They had two full pounds of heavenly crystal blue, which was not much by Gus's standards at all (and only the very beginning of what was to be a much longer contract), but maybe just enough to use as an offering toward a loan. Enough to buy them ONE favor... After all, the money was theirs anyway, right? He _had_ to do them this one solid.

After a few minor setbacks, they were already behind schedule, and still had to return to the house to pick up a few things and clean themselves up before making the trip to see Gus together. Jesse tried not to think about what this extra time may have cost Carla, and he even broke his normal rules by allowing Mr. White to whip right into his driveway without checking to see if they had been followed first. Walt threw the vehicle into park and Jesse jumped out immediately, slamming the door hastily behind him. He made it half-way up his driveway before he realized that something was terribly wrong.

Walt finally exited the vehicle himself, stuffing the bottom of his long-sleeved shirt awkwardly into his pants as he bounded toward Jesse without noticing that his partner had stopped dead in his tracks. The near-collision caused by his distraction brought Walt to a stop as well.

"What?" He interrogated, finally aware that something was amiss when Jesse refused to budge from the spot. Jesse turned his head slightly to face him, eyes growing wide with concern. Suddenly, Walt could hear it, too.

The soft, muffled boom of music from Jesse's speakers emerged from what he had thought was his empty house. Immediately, Jesse read and interpreted Walt's expression, and with the roll of his eyes he shook his head to indicate that he had not accidentally left his system on for the past few days while they were gone. Slowly, they crept across the lawn to the back entrance, nearest the kitchen.

Peeking in, they could see shadows moving through the kitchen window, but nothing more. Jesse tried the door, and to his amazement, who ever was in there was dumb enough to leave it unlocked. He pulled it open quietly (not that it mattered, because the music was much louder inside), and grabbed the baseball bat that he kept by the door, holding it low to the ground as the two men crept inside like ninjas. They could hear a man's laughter. It was almost familiar to Jesse, but the adrenaline was clouding his brain too much to put a face to it. He slung the bat up on his shoulder as he neared the corner of the kitchen, and suddenly Badger's face came into view, sitting across the room at the table, laughing like an idiot. Jesse's wide-eyed glare and baseball bat caught Badger's attention right away, and he jumped to his feet.

"Oh hey, Jesse, we were just—" He began, but he trailed off when he saw Jesse's face upon entering the room completely.

Jesse's mouth dropped to the floor in utter shock as he rounded the corner and saw Carla standing at the stove, stirring a pot of...something. Walt had an almost identical reaction, and Badger couldn't help but wonder what he had missed. Skinny Pete returned from his bathroom break through the living room, and he nodded a "Yo Jesse, what's up?" in their general direction but was completely ignored.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Jesse exclaimed, his mouth going dry with a surge of mixed enthusiasm and confusion.

Walt just stood in silence, mouth agape for a moment while he tried to process what was going on.

"...Making chili?" Carla responded, deliberately avoiding what she knew Jesse had actually meant.

"Wh—why are you making chili?" Jesse beseeched, suddenly drained from the wave of overwhelming emotion.

"Because chili is the bomb, yo!" Skinny Pete chimed in, obviously unaware of the tension he was breaking.

"She does make some amazing chili," Badger confirmed, having dipped into the pot while she wasn't looking, "you gotta try it!"

"I mean... How did you _get_ here?" Jesse clarified with a sigh, ignoring his oblivious friends.

"I...hitched?" She responded vaguely, raising an eyebrow as if to inquire how else he may have thought she had gotten there.

"No, I mean..." Jesse stopped himself when he finally realized that she was not going to give him the answer that he was looking for. "What are you guys even doing here?" He digressed, looking over at Badger and Skinny Pete.

"Okay. How about you just put the bat down..." Carla said, taking it carefully out of Jesse's hands, "and have a seat."

She placed the bat on the floor, leaning it up against the corner where the two rows of cabinets met. Jesse took her advice and pulled a chair from the table, collapsing into it with his head in his hands as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. Walt also lowered himself into a seated position slowly, as if he were preparing himself for some kind of bad news. Badger and Skinny Pete just looked at each other confusedly, and wondered what the hell everyone's problem was all of a sudden.

"So," Carla began, returning to the pot to stir it a second time, "I came here because I didn't want you to worry too much and when I saw you weren't home, I let myself in. Good job hiding your spare key, by the way—no one ever checks the top of the door frame." Walt looked over at Jesse. Jesse rolled his eyes. "I waited here for a few hours, but I was really hungry, and when I checked your cabinets, all you had was a bunch of... Chili powder?"

"Yeah it used to be my...signature." Jesse instantly regretted mentioning it, and just prayed that she didn't ask at this point because he was in no mood to try and explain it.

"Uh huh..." She responded, assuming that any explanation would be too bizarre to warrant listening to anyway. "Well, anyway, I was really hungry. And all you had was a cabinet full of chili powder, which made me really want chili, so I decided to go to the store. It's a really long walk, and I didn't think I could manage to hitch again with an arm full of groceries, so I hot-wired your car... Sorry about that."

Jesse shot her a look, but she was deliberately not paying attention.

"Badger and Pete here were at the store as well, and they saw me getting out of your car. Being the good friends that they are..." Badger and Skinny looked at each other and smiled proudly, "they followed me around the store asking me who I was, where you were, and wouldn't let me out of their sight until I gave them an explanation as to why I had your car. I didn't really have one, so I invited them over for some chili. I hope you don't mind..."

Jesse jerked his hand away from his temple and held it up to indicate that he didn't even know what to say. A gesture of 'whatever', if you will. Walt stood up and approached Carla slowly, taking her by the elbow.

"Can I speak to you in the other room? Please?" He said at last, eyes locked intently on hers.

"Sure." She responded indifferently, pretending to be puzzled as to why they would need to speak with her privately.

Jesse stood up as she and Walt walked past him on the way to the living room, and he motioned for Badger and Pete to stay where they were. The two friends looked at each other in confusion, and then shrugged their shoulders in a mutual lack of understanding.

Walt, Jesse, and Carla crossed the room until they were as far from the kitchen doorway as possible while they spoke. It wouldn't really have been a big deal if Badger and Skinny had overheard the conversation, but at the same time, there was much less to worry about if they didn't. When the three finally came to a stop, Walt and Jesse stood side-by side, backing Carla into the corner so that she was facing them and had nowhere else to go. She crossed her arms defensively, but the emotionless look on her face told them that she would not be intimidated. They waited to hear her explanation, but it did not come freely.

"So... How did you get here?" Walt demanded, copying her defensive stance.

"I told you," she said, " I hitched."

"That's not what we mean, and you know it. How did you—" Walt lowered his voice a bit, "How did you get out of there? How did you get away from them?"

Carla paused for a moment, staring off at the entrance to the kitchen while she silently weighed the pros and cons of answering that question truthfully.

"Like I said, I'm a shrewd negotiator." She responded flatly.

"That's not good enough—" Walt interjected, but Jesse cut him short.

"You didn't...kill them...did you?"

The room went completely silent, and suddenly Carla's face became very cold and serious.

"Let's just say," she began with a pause, glancing down at the floor briefly, "those guys aren't going to be bothering you anymore."

She raised her gaze to meet Walt's, and then quickly shifted over to Jesse. When she was satisfied that her point had been made and that the two men were stunned out of having anymore irritating questions, she excused herself, pushing between them and making her way back into the kitchen.

"Chili time!" She announced as she cleared the doorway, and passed the table.

"What was that all about?" They heard Badger ask meekly, but the question was ignored.

Walt and Jesse were still frozen in place, staring in disbelief at the empty space where Carla had just been standing. The girl that they were on their way to save just practically confessed to a multiple murder right in front of them, and slowly they both turned their heads to look at each other with the same puzzled expression on their faces... What the _fuck_ was in that chili?

#

Walt didn't bother to stay for dinner. He knew that nothing noteworthy would be said in front of Badger and Pete, and for all he knew the chili could have been poisoned (or worse), anyway. He had given serious consideration to warning Jesse against eating it, actually, but part of him realized that he was being unnecessarily critical. Carla and Jesse had spent over a week in eachother's constant company without any issues. That may have been more than enough time to make Walt consider killing Jesse, but there was no logical reason to believe that Carla would suddenly want to hurt him.

As he pulled his SUV into the driveway, the sloppily-stuffed suitcase by the front door and absence of Skyler's vehicle by the garage told him more than he wanted to know. He stepped out of the car, and as he approached the door he could see that there was a note pinned to the suitcase.

"I'm done calling to check your stories." Was all it said—she signed it with a sarcastic little heart.

Walt placed the note lazily back on top of the suitcase, trying to erase its existence from memory instead of allowing the truth to sink in, and slipped his key into the lock. Luckily, it still turned. He knew that Skyler wasn't there—she had made every possible effort to ensure that he would know that without having to enter the home—but he still couldn't stop himself from checking the rooms individually, just in case. He walked the hall slowly, as if it were leading to a well-deserved seat in the electric chair—behind every creaking door that he slowly pushed open came a rush of memories and flashbacks that tore at the fabric of his heart.

First, there was the bathroom. It was here that Skyler had first discovered that she was pregnant with his second child. She threw the door open quickly, tears streaming down her face as she greeted Walt on the other side, positive pregnancy test clutched between her fingers. They held each other in that doorway, crying tears of joy together for what seemed like an eternity.

Next was Junior's room. Walt could remember every stage of development as if they had all happened simultaneously. Looking back, he couldn't believe how much time had passed and how quickly his son had grown up. It seemed like just yesterday that he had stood in this very spot, looking in on Walt Jr., who was busy coloring on his bedroom floor. He was surrounded by crayons, and had drawn a picture of them all standing outside of their house, smiling. "Look dad, I made this for you..."

Finally, he pushed open the door to the master bedroom. If ever there was a haunted room in any home, this was it for him. Suddenly, Walt found himself overcome with a rush of indiscernible emotions—joy, fear, sadness, anger, love—all at once, and with no apparent cause. Every fight they had ever had, every serious decision they had ever made, all came from this room. This is where they confided in each other, where they made love... it was where Skyler learned about the Cancer.

There was a sudden knotting sensation in Walt's stomach causing him to feel violently ill, and he had to turn away from the room. His cheeks burned hot as if he had been crying, but there were no tears. The tumblers clicked shut as he pulled the door closed behind him, leaning on it for a moment with his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he tried to recover.

Skyler had been angry with him before, doubly so in recent history, and she had threatened to leave on more than one occasion since she found out about the meth, but somehow this felt different. Whatever it was that had made this house a home was no longer there, and it was slowly becoming apparent that it would never be coming back.

When Walt finally opened his eyes and made his way back down the hall, a piece of paper taped to the inside of the front door caught his eye. He hadn't noticed it before, and the dread was building in the pit of his stomach as he approached it cautiously. He grabbed the bottom of the paper, pulling it free from the door, and his eyes moved over it slowly. She had finally gotten the restraining order.

Walt closed his eyes again, letting his head roll back on his neck in saddened disbelief. He clutched the paper so tightly in his fist that his knuckles were turning white, and then in a sudden flash of rage, he thrust them violently into the center of the door where the paper had been hanging over and over. Finally, he buckled in exhaustion. Leaning on the door with his head hanging down and his weight resting on his other hand, his teeth were clenched as tightly as an alligator as he took several deep breaths to try and compose himself. The adrenaline began to wear off, and he was suddenly aware of the pain surging through his right hand. He glanced down at his still-closed fist and was surprised to see blood pouring from the knuckles, dripping on the floor and covering his copy of the restraining order.

Pausing for a moment, he was transfixed on the sight of crimson blood spreading across the delicate white paper in his hand. He finally straightened himself up, and was caught off guard by the damage he had done to the door—There was a long crack running down toward the floor that stemmed from a deep, blood-stained hollow where his fist had impacted. Walt's eyes widened, understanding that he shouldn't have done that, but it was too late now. He glanced back down at the blood-stained restraining order in his hand before tossing the crumpled document onto the floor, and exiting his home for what was likely to be the last time.

#


End file.
